WANTED: A Terrorizing Tabby
by carpetfibers
Summary: Before she was the renown and stern Hogwarts professor of Transfiguration, back when she was barely older than a girl, Minerva McGonagall was a spy. (One-Shot that begs something longer)


_A/N: I seriously loved writing this and now am faced with a giant urge to write of super-spy Minerva's escapades in length. We know that she was a spy for the Aurors during the first war, so I didn't think it much of a jump to suggest that she might have started the spying earlier on her career, during the two years she worked at the Ministry after graduating._

 _Also, how perfect was this prompt? "Write a WANTED ad for a serial cat burglar who is, in fact, a cat."_

* * *

 _ **WANTED: A Terrorizing Tabby**_

 _ **By: carpetfibers**_

* * *

 ** _August, 1961_**

 ** _Morning_**

The notices that dotted alley walls within Diagon described her as spotted and mangy, with a torn ear and a bedraggled tail. It was difficult not to tear them down, specious as they were in both their description of her appearance and exploits. Burglar indeed… it wasn't as if she had ever stolen anything, although she supposed her actions could, _technically_ , be described as breaking and entering.

Minerva McGonagall most certainly, though, was not a thief, and the attempts to label her as one left her bristling and distinctly peeved. Her handler took careful measures to remind her that serenity in nature and action were the safest response.

"Minnie, my dear, no one knows it's _you_. The posters are for a _cat_ , not one of the loveliest witches to grace the Ministry in nearly fifty years." Elphinstone Urquart's generous, but decidedly inappropriate compliments had the very opposite intended effect on Minerva, and she cast aside his words then as she did most days.

He was a perfectly decent man, but he was her senior in both title and age, and she had other things on her mind than being wooed. There had been a time for that, and she'd put an end to those feelings nearly seven years earlier. No, she had made her decision, and the job and her magic took precedence.

Elphinstone needed to find another tree to latch onto. She made sure to tell him as such as often as possible. He did make her laugh, though. . . she blamed her Muggle father for that weakness. A well-groomed beard and a canny eye, and she had a twinge in her knees that often caught her in the gut when said man planted a solid wink in her direction.

She ignored the compliment, and the implied wink, and drank from her tea sternly, the diffidence at direct odds with the youthful fullness of her cheeks and misbehaving hair. No matter the charm or numbers of pins, her black locks found ways to stumble free from the tight knot at the nape of her neck. "We're on a timetable Mr. Urquart, perhaps you could see to focus?"

The man ran a coy hand over his beard, knowing the gesture often made the irascible woman blush prettily. While her ears turned a lovely shade of pink, her frown only deepened. He handed over a brief slip of parchment with a muted sigh. "The lads have scheduled another of their meetings tonight, for their 'club.' The theme is a masque, apparently, and escorts are allowed. I've arranged for a failure in the wards just after 9pm; bad weather's scheduled, and lightning does the strangest things to blood wards, you know."

Minerva did know, having taken advantage of the summer's frequent heat lightning more than twice already in the past month. Personally, she would have opted for something in the lighter spell spectrum for security wards and avoided the whole weather-weakness entirely, but the club was a rather dramatic lot and made up of mostly disgruntled youths who kept harkening back to their bloodlines and reclaimed glory.

Grindelwald groupies, she surmised, for the most part, but enough of them had gathered to garner the Ministry's concerns, and her reports, while mostly consisting of the same tired rhetoric did speak to a larger organization. They had yet to pinpoint the leader of the club, which was the main goal of her intelligence gathering.

Perhaps that night would prove fruitful.

Elphinstone placed a careful hand over hers, drawing both her gaze and frown. "Minnie, I'd rather you not go alone on this one. We have another agent within the group, and I'd feel better if he knew of your presence."

Minerva extracted her hand and ignored the gentle warmth the touch had left her. "Only one other knows about my animagus form, Mr. Urquart, and you know the danger of a secret once it leaves three. I'll be fine, and even if I am found out-" Her thin lips spread into the sort of dangerous grin Elphinstone liked most, "I'm not exactly defenseless."

He nodded once and enjoyed how her cheeks pinked when he drew his hand along his beard in what he hoped appeared unplanned.

* * *

 ** _August, 1961_**

 ** _Evening_**

The manor was similar in most regards to the others: aged stone, meandering garden paths, and long narrow windows that looked down onto waterless fountains. Minerva sat crouched, her ears twitching as her far keener hearing picked up the sounds of insects, earthworms, and the distant whistle of a spider laying its evening web. The grounds were absent any sort of formal gate, but the telltale shimmer of the wards cut a clean division through the grounds' organized clusters of shrubbery and bulbs.

When the rain began, she knew it wouldn't be too much longer.

The shimmer dimmed after the first lightning strike, and then faded out entirely with the second. She dashed forward, low and sleek along the ground, and bared her teeth in a feline approximation of a grin as she crept along through the darkness of the moonless night to the manor's well-lit and conveniently open windows. Music wafted out into the inky blackness, the sort for dancing and supping, and a small group of whispering witches, gossip evident from their watchful expressions, paid her no mind as she slunk in through the library window and ran down the hall.

She paused and listened, seeking out the voice belonging to one Abraxus Malfoy, a confirmed lieutenant within the group. If anyone was to disclose the sort of information the Ministry was hoping for, he'd be it. It helped that he had a weakness for elven wine and after two glasses grew positively chatty with those around him.

Braggart and fool, Minerva declared him in her reports, and far too pretty for a man in her opinion.

She wound through the halls, ducking and hiding behind doorways as swiftly moving cloaks went from room to room. While she doubted they'd give her more than a passing glance- she did _not_ resemble the wanted ads in the least- it wouldn't do to draw undue attention. Whatever thievery was being associated with her was not of her making, despite the connections some novice Auror had decided upon.

What would she want with an old locket anyway, or a tarnished cup? As a general rule, Minerva did not abide jewelry. She had her pocket watch and hairpins, and that was vanity enough for her.

A booming laugh drew her to the end of the second-floor hall, to what appeared to be a dead-end, the wall lined from floor to ceiling with towering shelves, heavy with books and oddments. The laughter sounded again, and she sniffed at the air. Malfoy's cologne clouded her nose instantly, and she batted at her whiskers instinctively. She studied the shelves more closely; if a wall was not a wall, but a door…

Minerva crept back, hugging the shadows of the hall, her eyes unaffected by the darkness, and waited. It wasn't long before the hidden door swished transparent, the glow and steam of the magic giving her a brief view into a smoky room, the walls lined with dark woods and a tall figure, masked and cloaked at the center. She darted past once the departing wizard was through, and found ample cover behind the bust-laden pillars that spotted the room.

The wizard at the center was the only one still disguised, and his audience listened, enraptured. Minerva found a particularly convenient alcove to crouch in, the flash of her feline eyes hidden in the gloom of the overhanging curtain. The masked man spoke clearly, in a deep, cultured voice, the words heavy with years of forced practice; she wondered if human ears could pick up on the tiny breaks that spoke of its non-native origin.

There were notes of the North in his voice, and not the well-off sort of Northerner.

Her nose twitched at the sooted air, and she listened, closely, as the wizard continued to speak.

"My brothers, you should not fear your weakness, but master it! To ignore that within you that is brittle and fragile is to embrace failure. You only gain strength from mastery of yourself and your craft. We are gifted as wizards to carry within us generations of power and magic that are singular, that separate our blood from the upstart rabble that encroach on our population."

One of the listening wizards, a man she had identified two weeks earlier as a Slytherin senior of hers, Rikard Avery, called out. "You mean the _mudbloods_."

The disguised wizard appeared to pause, a crafted smile breaking his handsome lips. "Rikard, you must remember that language is a reflection of self. We are not the sort to use such words here." His smile softened, mirroring crudely that of a parent scolding a child. "But you are correct, I do speak of these newcomers who think themselves especially honored, who through some trick or trap finesse their ways into our hallowed halls and wave sticks that they try to call wands.

"Have you not noticed how more and more of our kin are afflicted with a loss of their power? How, as the Muggleborns increase, we find our sisters and cousins, uncles and fathers growing ill and weak? The Ministry-" and his tone grew scornful, a few scathing sounds lifting from the room to echo behind him, "-our _doting_ Ministry claims that there is no connection- no evidence, but do we not have eyes to see and ears to hear?"

He stepped down from the elevated floorboards and placed a long-fingered hand on Avery's shoulder. "You state it crudely, Rikard, but you are correct: our blood has been dirtied and infiltrated, and we only have ourselves to blame for it."

Another within the crowd, a new face Minerva hadn't spotted before but quickly recognized: Walden MacNair, another Slytherin who graduated when she was in her third year and now worked at the Ministry, in its Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures as an apprentice- reached out to touch the wizard's cloak reverently.

"My Lord-"

The masked wizard laughed lowly, the sound gentle to the ears and yet chilling to Minerva's own. "Walden, you know how I feel about titles. I have a name, you used it when we were at school."

"Tom," MacNair corrected, his voice still that of a devoted worshipper. "What would you have us do?"

 _Tom_ , _Tom_ \- Minerva ran the name through her mind; he would have been in Slytherin, being as chummy as he was with Avery and MacNair, but before her time. She would know that voice- would know that Northerner faking at gentry and cultivation.

Only minutes in his presence, and she had the measure of this honey-tongued wizard; while her Muggle father had been humble and genuine in his religious servitude, she had met colleagues of his who had dreamt of more, aspired to a degree of deification that the faith occasionally granted. Charismatic and mesmerizing, had she not already been introduced to a world far grander than that of angels and demons, she too might have fallen prey.

Tom held back his words, peering into the group and letting his dark eyes, ever blacker from within the silver panels of his mask, settle over each of them, one by one. "We are already strong, already full of the necessary power, but we can be more. The Ministry would defame our words as that of dark wizards, but that is because they fear our potential! What is dark magic but a freeing of shackles? Those of you who were with me at Hogwarts know of what I speak, know of the beauty and yes," he let his touch linger on Malfoy's pale cheek, the man shivering at the purposeful caress, "the sometimes pain.

"But before we take that next step, I must be sure of it- we must be sure of it: are you loyal? Are you true? Trust is weakness, but an oath binds us as brothers for life. Will you bind yourselves now and take that first step toward true freedom and power?"

A few spoke aloud, stumbling one after the other in their affirmations, with yet others nodding in agreement. Only one held back, his steel-grey eyes and thick dark hair marking him instantly as a Black; Minerva ran through the possibilities and settled on Arcturus. Tom took pause at the man's silence, the first slip in his amiability showing as his eyes appeared to flash a momentary red.

"Mr. Black, you have a concern?"

The older wizard's lip curled before speaking with a voice that evinced the sort of wealth and prestige this Tom seemed to aim for. "I fail to see, Riddle," and he drew out the name, stretching the syllables as if to remind those with him that this was a name that did not occur in their bloodlines, that held no seat within the Sacred Twenty-Eight, "how a binding ceremony will benefit anyone here except for, perhaps, you, the man who cannot even be bothered to remove his mask."

 _Tom Riddle_! She knew this name, remembered it as being lauded by her professors as the finest Head Boy Hogwarts had seen in a generation. She recalled hearing of his attempt to get a job, shortly after graduation, at the school, and then later, disappearing into the shops at Diagon, much to her now colleagues' lamentation. Her mentor, however, never seemed to share the interest or concern the other professors did in Riddle's life.

That same polite, unconcerned smile crossed Riddle's mouth, and he obligingly removed the referenced accessory. Minerva noted that the handsomeness was not limited to his mouth, his features providing a charming and easy expression that invited second glances. He was attractive, but she felt that he seemed all too aware of it. "You are correct, Mr. Black, I would benefit from such an act. But the gain is a mutual one. I would not ask for your loyalty, sir, not to me. No, I ask for loyalty to the cause, to our shared effort."

Arcturus appeared unswayed, his eyes scornful. "I think that House Black will excuse itself from your endeavors, Riddle." The wizard paused to motion to another in the group, a younger man who Minerva knew to be his son, Orion. Orion left as well, albeit with far more reluctance, and their departure forced a second crack in Riddle's smooth composure.

The earlier mood of obeisance appeared to weaken with the break in the ranks, and Riddle seemed to know it. With a graceful shrug of his shoulders, he gestured with upturned hands once, summoning with a stunning display of wandless, voiceless magic, a number of velvet bound sachets that zipped into each of the remaining wizards' waiting hands.

Minerva spotted a glint of metal from one of the small sacks and the unmistakable scent of entrapped magic. _Talismans_ \- but there were so many! The kind of effort and power it took to create even one could take years, and that was with a simple spell. The cloying scent of them raised the hair on her back and she fought the instinct to hiss, the pressure so discomfiting.

The talismans housed dark magic, she was sure of it.

"Brothers, we will continue this on another night, but I leave you with a small taste of what awaits us. I caution you to use your _gift_ carefully and with prudence. Think of who most blocks you, of who most acts to prevent you from what is decidedly yours to claim." Riddle withdrew one of the shimmering globes from within his cloak and held it out. "Abraxus, my friend, would you assist me in a brief demonstration?"

The blond wizard stepped forward without hesitation, his pale eyes fixed on the younger wizard. "My Lord."

Riddle did not correct him and instead smiled, pleased with the obedience. "You need only speak the trigger and then your partner will be yours to do with as you will."

He brought the talisman close to his lips, the metallic gleam of it setting his dark eyes aglow. " _Obey_ , Abraxus."

The older wizard shuddered and then stiffened, his eyes clouding over and his wand falling from his fingers. Riddle's smile grew as he continued the show. "Abraxus, do you not consider it rude to stand as you do? How should you greet your Lord?"

He pointed with two long fingers to the ground and immediately Malfoy lowered to his knees. Riddle crouched down beside him, running those same fingers over the wizard's brow. "Abraxus, would you show us how a loyal brother- a _true_ brother- shows his devotion?"

Malfoy froze, unsure of the command, and then Riddle lifted the edge of his cloak, exposing the black gleam of his leather boots. At this, Malfoy appeared to hesitate, attempting to fight the compulsion, but Riddle squeezed the talisman within his palm, and then Malfoy's lips were on his feet, the pink of his tongue evident as he licked and kissed at the leather.

Riddle straightened, ignoring the man prone before him, and addressed the group directly. "This is just the beginning of what we can achieve, and it is my gift to you."

He let Malfoy's ministrations continue for a moment longer before smashing the talisman to the ground. He did not wait for Malfoy to regain himself before stepping past the wizard and lowering himself back into the crowd, which broke in ready wait for him.

Minerva stayed frozen in her hiding spot, her chill from earlier having reached her heart. Riddle had imbued the talismans with an _Imperius_ curse! It could only be that. She shuddered, the motion more of a tremble in her animagus form, and fought the urge to make an immediate escape. She was certain that whatever path he was leading the other wizards in the room down, he was already far along it.

Her tail flit in momentary satisfaction; at least, after her report tonight, Urquart and the Ministry would know the name of the instigator for the club. Her testimony ought to be enough to bring up charges of the use of an Unforgivable, but having one of the talismans as actual evidence would be best.

Malfoy still hadn't recovered and sat on the floor, his expression bemused and hair disheveled. She could see the edge of the black velvet bag peeking out from his dress robes. She cut her eyes back to the tangle of wizards, Riddle still caught up in the middle of them, and then back to the blond wizard. It was worth it, she decided a second later, and then in as typical cat fashion as possible, she stretched out from the shadows and began a meandering path through the room.

She drew her back up against one of the other pillars, replicating perfectly the sort of feline back scratch one might expect from a house cat. After feigning dissatisfaction, she crossed over to Malfoy, pushing her head under his unmoving hand, as if seeking a better alternative. By reflex, the wizard's fingers curled along her fur, and she purred her pleasure, moving first one way and then the other, her gaze concentrated on the velvet bag.

Minerva chanced another glance back at Riddle and froze to see him focused on her, a tight, unfeeling smile on his generous mouth. She knew, instantly, that he could see through her. Somehow, he _knew_. But she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, and she made a bald rush for the bag, catching it in her mouth and diving for cover behind the nearest pillar. A flash of red spun after her, and then a distinctly green spell, its sickly pallor identifying it as yet another Unforgivable.

She darted out after the next hex caught the bust overhead, sending it crashing to her left. She dodged another flash of green, and then a third, before he returned to whatever red jinx he'd tried originally. But being small, fast and agile put the match in her favor; she needed only to keep moving, and surely he'd never experienced the sort of duel that involved a dodging tabby.

The door, though- she couldn't pause, but she needed to trigger it in order to escape, and as a cat, she couldn't bespell it. The velvet bag tasted of grit and damp between her teeth, and Minerva knew that she'd only have a second, perhaps two, to manage both the transformation and then incantation before Riddle would have another spell aimed for her back.

Behind her, she heard him cry out, anger and frustration forcing an edge of that hidden Northern accent to creep through. "The cat, you fools- it's an animagus!"

The odds ever worsened, she decided now or never, and threw herself upward, the transformation leaving her head spinning and vision doubled, but she had the spell caught on her lips even through the bag that she spat out with disgust. " _Alohomora_!"

The wall that wasn't a wall shattered in her wake, the shelves and books crashing behind her as she dove through the opening with the same feline grace she'd shown earlier. Minerva paused, just beyond the barrier, and caught the red gaze of Tom Riddle staring out after her. She flashed a toothy grin, black hair streaming and loose along her shoulders, and then, with a wave of the bag in her hand, disappeared.

The scream of rage that followed after her disapparation shook the manor down to its foundation.

* * *

 ** _September, 1961_**

 ** _After the Feast_**

The first years' Sorting and the annual Welcoming Feast both passed uneventfully, and once the prefects had led the students back to their dorms, Minerva joined her fellow professors in an after-supper tipple. She'd have preferred something stronger, but Dippet frowned upon anything he deemed as excess.

The Headmaster all but pounced the moment she fell back into her seat, sherry in hand. "Minerva, I've heard the most fantastic story about your summer."

She fought to not roll her eyes; he really was a terrible gossip. She hoped once she reached Dippet's age that she'd have more to care about than her co-workers' summer activities. "I confess to being confused," she replied dryly.

From across the room, Albus Dumbledore's ever-twinkling gaze assured her that he wasn't fooled. Dippet continued. "I was speaking with my third-cousin, Robena Macmillan, who works with the Minister as an advisor, and she mentioned the most incredible tale."

Minerva took a larger sip of her drink and motioned for him to go on; Dippet was only too pleased. "The Aurors had brought in a specialist to help with a bit of spywork, a secretly registered animagus, who they used to track down some of those pseudo dark wizard groups that like to pop up every now and again."

She made a brief murmur of interest and stubbornly avoided the amused wink that Dumbledore thought clever to send her way. Dippet folded his hands across his rather rotund middle and rocked back on his chair. "Imagine my surprise and, to be true, pleasure when I then learned that one of our very own professors had just registered as an animagus this past week. Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"Headmaster," she began, wishing she could get away with a second glass, "do you mean to say you think I was this spy?"

"Quite the coincidence," he repeated.

"Did you happen to note my form?"

Dumbledore obliged her silent wish by pouring a suspiciously clear liquid from a palmed flask into her glass; the fumes made her eyes water, and begrudgingly she shot him a grateful twist of her lips.

"Minerva's a tabby, Armando. A house cat," Dumbledore supplied.

Dippet's cheer dimmed briefly, Minerva's animagus form not nearly as exciting as he'd plainly imagined. "Masterful bit of magic, all the same," he said after a moment more, as if consoling himself. "Quite the achievement indeed."

Minerva nodded and accepted the few additional pieces of congratulations given her way. It took another hour before Dippet finally left, the few other remaining staff members following shortly after. Dumbledore ambled over to her side once they were alone, the edge of his auburn beard twirled between his fingers. "Spying again, Minerva?"

"A favor to a friend, and to rather good end. Do you remember Tom Riddle?" His twirling paused briefly before continuing, but her sharp eyes caught the interruption. "We uncovered a blood purity club he'd been growing, although club seems a bit tame for what he was up to."

"Was he arrested then?"

"No, I'm afraid. He must have realized the Aurors were bound for him and made for the continent. Elphinstone thinks Bulgary a likely spot, considering their blood sensibilities and reluctance to extradite." She let out a short sigh, rolling her neck once before rising as well.

Dumbledore nodded, his mouth serious for once. "Tom has always been a concern of mine. He was very powerful, even as a child."

"And yet he was out-matched by a simple house cat," she couldn't help but share, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

Her mentor raised a careful eyebrow. "Oh now?"

"If you can scare up a pensieve and some more of whatever was in that flask of yours, I might be coaxed into sharing the memory." She grinned up at him, lips mischievous.

Dumbledore smiled back, pride for his former student and current apprentice apparent in his expression. His eyes regained their twinkle as he placed a hand along her back, leading them to the exit. "How is Elphinstone these days? I understand he's grown a beard."

Her ears pinked, and the wizard who defeated Grindelwald laughed.


End file.
